The Face that Launched a Thousand Ships
by Nicholas de Vilance
Summary: /StephenConnor, mentions of StephenHelen/ Sometimes Stephen is cool, collected, controlled. He's not an open book. But sometimes...sometimes he just needs to talk. /mentions of various content unsuitable for persons under the legal age of consent/


Nicholas: Heh, got a little crush on James Murray, so I wanted to write something with Stephen. Originally, I wanted it to be about his allure and why he's just so damn sexy, but then it started to become about Helen and their affair and then Connor got thrown in there and this resulted. Hope you like it. I'm not at all happy with how it turned out, I feel like Stephen is so very out of character, but alas...it is done. Be kind.

Disclaimer: I'm not that crazy. I'm only this crazy. That? That's all them.

Rating: M...I'm going with M to be safe. Most of it is mentions of unconventional sex, homosexual sex and infidelity. Some language.

* * *

"You think I don't know about that clever little nickname that the SFs gave me, eh?"

Connor blushed; there was only one thing that Stephen could possibly be referring to. That didn't stop Connor from wishing that he wasn't. To be honest, he was quite sure why he was here in the first place. Given his recent—rather embarrassing—onslaught of wet dreams usually having to do with various parts of Stephen's body, he had tried to make it a point not to be too close to him, especially alone with him. Here, tonight, in Stephen's bloody living room at midnight, with a couple bottles of liquor set out between them, this was not a place he wanted to be. Okay, scratch that. He wanted to be here, he wanted it like he wanted chocolate sauce with his cookies and nice, long bouts of Halo on the weekends. This just wasn't a subject he was keen on discussing. Of course he knew what they all called him, every time he heard it he blushed like a teenage girl getting her first accidental glimpse of internet porn.

"Hart the Tart." It sounded weird coming out of Stephen's mouth. Probably because he wasn't meant to know about it. "Isn't that right?"

When he looked up and stared Connor straight in the eye, it wasn't with anger or disdain. That actually would have been more normal that the expression on his face now. Even so, Connor couldn't help feeling a bit guilty, just on the principle that he'd known about the whole thing and never tried to put a stop to it. He didn't think that Stephen was…promiscuous, or well, slutty. Everyone else did though, at least more of the soldiers—and recently Cutter. It was all because of stupid Helen and that stupid affair she'd had with Stephen. People could blame Hart all they wanted, Connor thought, but it takes two to tango.

Swiping a hand over his brow to stem the onslaught of dizziness, Stephen reached forward and picked up the vodka. "I'm not all that…I mean…it was a long time ago since I've slept with _anyone_, why can't everyone just let it go?" And yeah, that sounded a little too personal for him to be saying to _Connor_ in his right mind.

"I think you've had enough," the techie said, still sober enough to be able to snag the bottle away from his colleague.

"No, wait," Stephen muttered dismally, reaching after when Connor held it out of reach and consequently leaning pretty precariously over the other man's lap. "M'not done with that yet."

Distracted for only a moment, Connor tried to steady his resolve and work his mind around the fact that _Stephen_ was almost _laying_ in his _lap_. "Yes you are," he squeaked, attempting for forceful. "C'mon, mate, you're already going to regret this in the morning." He practically jumped skyward when Stephen fell, _oomph_, onto him, and then hit himself repeatedly over the head when the man didn't move.

"How did you stay dryer than me?" Stephen ask, drunk slur obvious in his voice.

Though he had meant to reply, everything in Connor's mind shut down as a defense mechanism when Stephen started squirming around ungracefully on the couch and consequently on top of him. His body was hot and pliant and heavy where his shoulders pressed against Connor's thigh and his head just flopped back. One leg propped up on the couch's arm and the other flung off the side, he really looked like sex warmed over. And Connor's cock was probably now the most attentive person in the room. Shifting lightly, Connor tried to keep that little fact to himself while his friend twisted around onto his back.

Stephen was breathing heavily and his eyes were closed. Were it not for the furrowed frown lines creasing his forehead, he would have looked asleep. "She said she loved me," he admitted quietly.

"Who?" but Connor already knew. If it was anyone else from the entire ARC sitting here right now they would have known too.

"Helen." Huffing lightly, Stephen put a hand over his face. "Hell, all the women who like me say that, but with her…I was a stupid, easy student at the time and I didn't know any better."

Surprised, Connor blinked a few times and then stared down at where Stephen wasn't looking up at him. This wasn't a conversation they should be having like this: Stephen drunk and Connor not too far behind him. He didn't think that in the right frame of mind, Stephen would talk to him about anything other than things _long_ dead. Stephen just didn't express like that, he kept himself very well guarded against showing what he was feeling. His past wasn't fossilized yet, so it didn't need to be discussed.

"Stephen…" Connor fully intended to insist that Stephen shut up and go to bed before he said something that he would really regret by morning, but suddenly the older man opened his eyes and leaned up in his elbows, awkwardly holding his head up.

"I'm not a whore." The expression on Stephen's face was strangely wistful, eyes wide and soft, lips in a light frown. "You know that, right? Cutter probably thinks that I'm some floozy little twat, and I _know_ the girls all think I'm an arrogant, Casanova ass, but you don't, do you Connor?"

Before he could stop himself he was shaking his head and running a hand through Stephen's hair. The poor guy just looked so uncharacteristically needy, and that was probably because he was drunk off his ass. "Of course I don't," Connor said, trying to be reassuring around his uncertain shakiness. But sometimes he did think that. Sometimes when he saw a beautiful lass throw herself at Stephen's bidding, and every time he figured that the coy little smile on the man's face was more than just a polite way steering her in the other direction; Connor figured that jealousy played a big part of it. Which was absolutely ridiculous; what did he have to be jealous for? Stephen wasn't _his_ or anything, he wasn't even gay.

And that hand he was running through the fine strands of Stephen's hair wasn't possessive at all…and he didn't thank the Lord jubilantly that Stephan hadn't pushed him away yet…not at all. He knew that he wanted Stephen, to some extent. Whether it was pure lust, fondness, concern, or even love, he knew that this man was more than just an idle crush. So he shuffled his fingers through the soft blond and smiled down at him.

"I mean, it wasn't like I intended to have a relationship with a married woman, I—heh, if you could call _that_ a relationship. All she wanted me for was because she was bored and I have a nice-sized—"

* * *

"_Stephen!_" Connor was about the color of a baboon's arse.

Laughing lightly, Stephen let himself fall back down onto the warmth of his lap. "Her words, not mine." That delightful buzz was making all of this so easy and light, he even felt some strange security. Because Connor was safe. Come on, whether or not Cutter showed it, he had a monster grudge against Stephen for the affair and Abby…well, Abby was female. It was getting to that point where he hoped he never saw another female again. But Connor wasn't female—obviously—and didn't hate him and unlike the SF guys, didn't think that he fucked everything with two legs that stood still long enough. Connor was happy and awkward and adorable, and had this look of embarrassed shock on his face that sort of made drunken Stephen want to lean up again and…do…something.

"It's true," he said instead, rubbing his eyes at the tingling lightheadedness. "Actually, her words were more along the lines of 'Yeah, Stephen, it was fun and you have a great cock—" Connor's eyes widened more, if you could believe it "—but I'm bored now. Go away so I can go corrupt some other starry-eyed, gullible little undergraduate.' And then she walked off without so much as tossing me my shorts."

He was still giggling, but the words were digging up some of those memories, opening those never-healing wounds. Bright in his mind, he could see the nonchalant, dismissive look on her face when she had told him she didn't want him anymore. He remembered how it shitty that made him feel, how after that he messed around with as many people as he possibly could just to prove to himself that he was still an attractive, functional _male_. "She was the first and only woman…" he reminisced fondly and sadly, "to so utterly and completely cast me aside."

There was still this funny look on Connor's face, like he was trying to hold his breath for too long, and Stephen couldn't help his chuckle. "I'm not the tart, right? Helen is."

All Connor did was nod awkwardly and clear his throat. Suddenly his brow was knitted together and there were frown lines teasing his features. Some of his hair had fallen over his left eye but he hadn't brushed it away, he kept his hand in Stephen's hair and didn't _that_ feel nice. Without thought, Stephen reached up and plucked the black wisp aside, settling his head better in Connor's palm.

"Like I was saying, I really respected Cutter. I pretty much thought the sun shined out of his arse. He was my professor and a friend, I didn't do it to get back at him or spite him or anything. I just…Helen was so…" Trailing off, he turned in Connor's lap and started to reach for one of the bottles on the coffee table.

"No," Connor protested, his voice a little low, barely a dry whisper. With the hand not occupied by petting his head, he told hold of Stephen's shoulder and pulled him back. "Stephen, I'm cutting you off."

"Are you?"

"Yes. I think I should get you into bed."

* * *

Stephen went still, staring somewhat comically shocked up at his newly appointed caretaker. For a moment, Connor wasn't sure why, if maybe he had done something or said something stupid. Then, the man raised an eyebrow and muttered: "You too?"

It took a long pause and a few calculations for the techie to properly process the insinuation, but then his face was flaring up red again. One because, well, _yeah!_ Him too. And two because…Stephen's tone of voice was different. Not like he was angry, or confused, or even a little disgusted by the prospect that Connor might want to go to bed with him, but rather, a little intrigued. His lips were parted thoughtfully, and oh-so-prettily.

"No!" Connor shook his head to keep himself from pulling this idiot up and kissing him. That would just make him a bigger fool. "Not like that, you need sleep."

"Oh, okay." Stretching his arms up like a cat, Stephen snuggled down again and fluttered his eyes. "I don't think you could handle me anyway," he stated—more playfully than self-confidently. "I'm pretty kinky for a lab assistant. Like, _kinky_."

Alright, this was officially passing the boundaries from what was okay to discuss with colleagues when drunk. This was well in the ring of things Stephen will regret by morning. Being the good friend that he was, Connor knew he should stop him from talking. Even if he really wanted to hear, _really_ wanted those mental images of what it was that Stephen considered kinky. Despite peeking interest in his groin, he wanted to know.

"Helen was…_adventurous_," with this word said, Stephen dissolved in to a fit of giggles. "Oh my god, some of the things…didn't even know if I liked half the stuff until she did it to me. Like she'd bite me…" Groaning, he shifted his hips so that his knees fell farther apart. "Tie me down and beat me raw. Uhn…she may have been an insufferable bitch, but she knew a thing or two. Told me that she couldn't do half the things she did with me with Cutter. Turns out whips and cock rings aren't normal essentials of a married bed."

Connor gulped and tried without much difficulty to imagine his colleague spread out, bound up in bed with ball gag clamped between his jaws and a tight ring squeezing his cock to a hard, angry purple. He was sweating, praying to god that Stephen didn't notice the rather apparent tent of his pants right beside his head. Then again, Stephen was probably too distracted by rubbing the hell out of the crotch of his jeans.

"Sometimes," the lab assistant stated, with an air of confidentiality as he lifted himself up on one elbow to look close to Connor's face, "sometimes, she even fucked me up the arse with this _huge_ dildo."

With a choked off, strangled, cough, Connor looked away so that he didn't have to see straight into that intense gaze anymore. However, before he knew it, Stephen reached up and cupped his face, pulling him back so that they were eye to eye. "Wanna know a secret?" Stephen shifted until he was almost completely in the other's lap and then dragged his head down to press his lips against his ear. "I liked it," he hissed, voice all sex, "I liked it a lot."

"_Stephen!_" Connor sounded like he'd just run a marathon breathing improperly the whole way. The raw, carnal desire that he heard in that one word—his name—made Stephen smirk.

This was better sitting awkwardly on his couch feeling some sort of obligation towards being here for Stephen. This was better than just looking and no touching. Smile played easily across his lips, Stephen snaked his arm around Connor's neck and brought their mouths together in a sloppy, drunken kiss.

* * *

Stephen woke up before the sun rose with a splitting headache. Flopping awkwardly out of bed, he stumbled around in the dark a while before he managed to get to the bathroom to vomit, the wet his face with cold water, and vomit again. Worst hangover he'd had since he was an undergrad. What the hell happened last night? The only thing he could remember clearly was Connor in his living room and liquor…_lots_ of liquor. And _why_ was Connor in his living room? Wait a tick…

Slowly, he pushed himself up off of the floor in the bathroom and made his way back to his bed room. From the doorway, he looked in, eyes scanning over his bed, and his jaw almost hit his knees at what he saw. On top of the covers, spread out on his belly with his cute, pert ass practically up in the air, lay Connor Temple. His cheek was pressed into the pillow and a light snore slithered out of his parted lips. In an instant, Stephen was terribly aware that he and Connor had had sex last night—full-on, drunken, gay sex complete with passing out on top of each other. Images assaulted him, echoes of the delicate, whimpering sounds that the younger man had made when Stephen was…

Retreating, Stephen went back to his toilet and threw up some more of this hangover until he could focus again. The sun was starting to rise, to peek in through the clouded-glass window at the ceiling of his bathroom. When the retching stopped and his head stopped throbbing so much, he stood and brushed his teeth at the sink, thinking about the young man sprawled, sleeping, across his bed.

Connor had come home with him, just to make sure that he, in fact, made it home. It had been Stephen's idea that he stay and have a drink with him…and then another, and another. Shit, what had he said? Did he really talk about Helen? And, god, he did _not_ spout off all of that stuff about… Spitting sharply, he ran the water to rinse the suds from the sink and then scrubbed more intently at his teeth and tongue, trying to get that damn taste out of his mouth. Last night, he'd fucked his colleague, and from what he could remember, it had been awesome. From what he could remember, Connor wasn't as vanilla as one would expect. He spit again, rinsed out his mouth and just leaned against the counter trying to figure out what he was going to do.

Morning slowly filled the bathroom, giving him light to think by. It wasn't that he was completely disgusted with himself, or with Connor. He'd had his bi-curious encounters back in school, and of course there was Helen—whom no completely straight man could be with comfortably. But he'd been drunk. And Connor had been drunk; maybe not as far gone as Stephen, but still…neither of them could have been thinking clearly. What if Stephen had done something that Connor didn't want and the kid just didn't have it in him to tell him no? The last thing Stephen wanted to do was take advantage of someone they way Helen had used him.

Still, Connor was an intriguing prospect. One couldn't honestly say that Stephen hadn't considered possible attraction to the young man, barring the tendency to outrageous geekiness and getting himself into monumental amounts of trouble. From a detached point of view, he knew that Connor was attractive, in that cute, almost feminine way. He was thin, soft and malleable. Remembering the way he'd felt underneath Stephen, moving with him, moaning tenderly, the lab assistant felt his arousal stirring. He raised his head and looked in the mirror. What the hell?

Without thinking it through, he was walking back down the hall way. Once he reached the bed room door again, he passed the threshold and straight to the bed and lay down right beside the other man, putting an arm around Connor's waist. This had happened. It had been pleasant and could possibly be pleasant again. Stephen was _not_ going to turn Connor out without reason, he was _not _going to run away and he was _not _going to do to Connor what Helen had done to him. Stretching lightly, he reached down and yanked the blanket up over them both.

"Hm…?" Connor stirred slightly, cuddling back into Stephen's warmth, "Whassit?"

"Shhh. We'll talk later," Stephen muttered gently, strangely glad to feel that Connor wasn't pulling away or freaking out, "get some rest."

"Uhkay…" The techie huffed a breath and twisted, burying his face into the crook of the other man's shoulder. "'Night, 'night, 'night…"

Fond smile tugging at his lips, Stephen tucked them together under the blanket and told himself that maybe this whole thing wasn't so bad. Connor wasn't Helen, he didn't expect anything questionable, he wasn't cruel. There wasn't the whole "someone else's spouse" thing to get in the way. Both of them were sexually active, single men and, apparently, shared an attraction to each other. Neither was trying to take advantage, Connor wasn't bored or dismissive or harsh. Stephen could forget all of that, just for a little while—forget his past conquests, forget _Helen_. Besides, Helen never cuddled him like this.


End file.
